


Healing

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage, Oral Sex, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 04:11:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco takes care of his sick husband.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.
> 
> Gift for Bella526.

When Neville wakes up in a sweaty, red-faced heap, it’s not at all for the usual, good reasons. His head is pounding just as much as it was when he first drifted off, if not more, and there’s a fervent, burning sensation below his skin. It feels like his veins are boiling over, but all the little hairs on the outside are cold.

He opens his mouth to call out, but his throat’s dry, and it come out in a burst of coughing. He’s forced to sit up with it, doubling over. A few agonizing seconds later and he settles back into the thick array of pillows, wheezing like a wizard four times his age.

There’s a steady, whispered beat in the distance, that could either be footsteps, or just his head throbbing. Neville hopes it’s the former. When the bedroom door opens, he tries to sigh in relief, but that only draws out another fit of coughing.

Draco nudges the door closed with his back. There’s a large wooden trail in his hands. He makes a clicking sound in his throat and walks over to the bed, shifting the tray onto the nightstand.

He drawls, “Poor Neville,” in the sort of baby-voice he used to use when Scorpius was first learning to walk. Neville was never pampered as a child, and he doesn’t at all mind the treatment now.

When Neville was sick as a child, Gran would hang him out the window by his feet and insist he toughen up. Despite it never working to do anything of the sort, Gran never once changed tactics. The first time Neville got sick at home, he instinctively expected similar treatment. Instead he got a very frantic Draco and a rush-floo to St. Mungos, despite Neville explaining that he _is_ a Healer, and if it were something they could fix, he would’ve fixed it.

This is one of those even-a-Healer-can’t-fix things that has him on temporary bedrest. This particular strain isn’t uncommon—nothing major. It’s simply an impervious-to-magic Wizard-only virus, that’ll torment him for a few days and then leave him be.

Draco acts like it’s a fatal illness or a werewolf bite. Neville’s stopped bothering trying to correct him. At least it isn’t as bad as when Scorpius is sick, in which case Draco won’t leave his bedside and becomes prone to spontaneous tears.

Neville gets a bit dizzy when the bed weighs down, and Draco shuffles over to him, reaching out to feel his forehead. Neville closes his eyes and leans into it, mumbling, “’M fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Draco mutters, nose wrinkling. “You’re burning up. That can’t be good.”

Even in this state, Neville can’t help but be a little bit sarcastic, because light teasing is their main form of communication. “I’m sorry, which of us is the Healer?” He raises his eyebrows, and his tone earns him a scowl. Neville smiles amicably.

“Some Healer you are,” Draco scoffs, although it has none of his usual bile—all the bite drains out of his words when Neville’s actually hurt. “And pricking yourself on a plant, too—you should know better. Isn’t Herbology supposed to be your field?”

“If I hadn’t pulled it off, Ron would’ve died,” Neville says simply, even though he knows it won’t help. Anyone else would be impressed with him saving the Head Auror’s life. Not Draco.

Draco just rolls his eyes and grumbles sarcastically, “Yes, that would’ve been a terrible shame.” Then he seems to gather himself, and he looks back down at Neville more sympathetically, murmuring, “I’m sorry, darling. I’m just...”

“Drastically overreacting?”

“I don’t have to bring you soup, you know.”

“I’m sorry.” Neville instantly dons an apologetic, innocent face, grinning wide. He glances over to confirm that there’s a ceramic bowl atop the tray; everything is sort of blurry. Except Draco. Draco’s clear and glowing, like an angel sent down to protect Neville. Or maybe he’s just still feverish.

Draco sighs, “I’m just _nervous._ I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.” He’s frowning, and Neville tries to lift up his hand to caress Draco’s beautiful face. But his arm only gets a few centimeters up before falling back down, and Draco smiles sadly. Neville feels pathetic but doesn’t mind the sympathy. Draco bends down to peck him on the forehead, lingering just those few seconds too long to be chaste. When he pulls back, he asks, “Can you sit?”

Neville nods and tries to scoot back into the pillows, shuffling upwards. He gets about halfway between lying and sitting when it becomes obvious that’s all he can do. Draco pulls the bowl off the tray, drawling, “Shall I feed you?”

Neville nods like a baby, trying not to look too delighted. There’s a certain luxury to being on the other side of the fence. He’s used to tending the sick all day, and having someone else tend to him is a lovely experience, made even better by the fact that it’s _Draco_. As intolerable as he can be sometimes, Draco is a wonderful caregiver with family. And Neville’s family. Draco treats him like he’s precious and wanted, and it makes Neville feel loved.

The soup, it turns out, is chicken noodle. A classic, and made better by the fact that Neville knows Draco _made_ it. He can tell from the size of the floating pieces of diced meat and the whole-wheat noodles, and from the fragrant spices you can’t get out of a can. Draco lifts up the spoon and blows on it gently; a bit of smoke wafts off.

Then he holds it in front of Neville, purring, “Say ‘ah.’”

Neville tries not to laugh, and he obediently says, “Ah,” opening wide. Draco gently moves the spoon to his lips, like he used to feed an infant Scorpius. Neville closes his mouth around the warmed metal and gulps it down. He can immediately feel the heat soaking out through his insides and the nutrition running through his nerves. It’s hard to eat in this state, but soup is manageable. It tastes divine, sort of spicy, and thoroughly delicious. Definitely homemade. As soon as he swallows, he mumbles, “Delicious,” because he loves the way Draco smiles.

Draco bends down to peck him on the cheek and whisper, “Get better soon. I want my man back.”

Neville chuckles, “I’m right here.”

Draco kisses softly on the lips and adds, “I love you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Draco’s woken suddenly out of a dead sleep by something nudging his back. He’s too groggy to yelp, but he does roll slowly over to find the offending hand still on his shoulder.

“You awake?” Neville murmurs, sounding as feverish as when Draco went to sleep.

Draco grumbles, “’Was,” and tangles his arms out of the blankets to rub at his eyes.

Neville whispers, “Sorry.”

It must still be the middle of the night. There’s a thin glow of moonlight streaming in through the dark curtains, tracing the lines of Neville’s silhouette, but otherwise, everything’s black. Draco yawns and stretches out; he’s still dead tired. But he can understand that Neville isn’t. Neville’s been in and out of sleep all day. He’s bedridden with a sickness he swears will go away in a week and promises isn’t contagious. He’s a Healer, and a good one; Draco trusts him. But that doesn’t mean Draco likes being woken up like this, and he drawls, “What is it?”

Neville shifts uncomfortably and mumbles, “I... think maybe I’m better.”

Draco reaches out a hand and presses the back of it to Neville’s forehead. “No, you’re not.”

Neville grumbles, “Okay, I’m just horny.”

“Pfft.” Draco rolls over abruptly, drawing the blankets back up around his shoulders. “Good night, Neville.” He sniffs and closes his eyes again, trying to will himself back to sleep.

“What?” Neville whines, and Draco gasps as his husband’s body heat suddenly presses into his back, arms wrapping around him atop the blankets. Neville pulls up close, shallowly rutting into him, and kisses the shell of Draco’s ear. “Mmm, just one round. Please? It’s been like... three days...”

“You’re sick,” Draco hisses incredulously. “You can’t be over-stimulated like that!”

“Why not?” Neville huffs, sounding oddly like Draco in the throes of an argument.

Draco rolls his eyes, even though Neville can’t see it. “Don’t be childish. You’ll overheat. And what if you faint? I won’t know what to do.”

“I won’t faint! Look, we can be gentle... just something... give me a hand job or something.”

Despite the grin twisting on his lips, Draco drawls, “Ugh, you’re disgusting.” It’s a physical effort not to push back into the attention and reveal his own irritation at going so long—for them, anyway—without.

Neville kisses the back of his neck. “You didn’t say that last week...”

“You weren’t running a fever last week.”

“C’mon, just blow me a bit...”

Draco grunts at a particularly hard thrust—he can feel the hard bulge in Neville’s pajamas. Neville smells thick and musky, having not showered this morning, and Draco can feel Neville’s stubble prickling the back of his neck. Neville’s hands slip under the blankets to properly _touch_ Draco, and Draco moans and arches as Neville starts to play with his nipples. It’s always hard to say no to Neville, even when Neville’s a mess. Because Draco always _wants him_. After a bit of heavy breathing and mental struggle—his wants verse his pride—Draco growls, “Fine, but if you look like you’re going to pass out, I’m going to stop immediately.”

He rolls over to Neville’s broadly-grinning face, which croons, “I love you,” and bends over to kiss him. Draco kisses him gently back and tries to ignore how unusually warm Neville’s face is. Then he pushes Neville back a little and rolls down the blankets to their waists. Draco gives a little shove to Neville’s shoulder, and Neville obediently rolls onto his side. “I’ll be good,” he promises.

To which Draco replies, “You better.” And, “Tell me if you get uncomfortable.” Because, as annoyed as he is with Neville’s antics, he does love Neville. And he doesn’t want Neville to overexert himself. Neville adjust in the pillows and looks at him with such utter adoration that it makes Draco blush. How is he supposed to say no to that handsome face?

Neville is handsome. He’s gorgeous, and strong, and so sexy it makes Draco tremble, and he doesn’t want to undo any of Neville pajamas, just in case the barred skin makes him unable to not just climb onto Neville’s dick. Instead he just unties the drawstring at Neville’s flannel bottoms and gently tugs the soft fabric down his thighs. Neville’s cock is already half hard and springs out immediately, and Neville makes a soft groaning sound overhead. Draco glances up at him and purrs, “I don’t want to ever hear you complain that I don’t do anything for you.”

“You’re the best husband ever,” Neville says with total conviction.

That makes Draco smirk and soothes his inner hesitation. He is a good husband. Neville’s better. Draco leans down to kiss him again. Neville tries to snake his tongue out, but Draco pulls away just in time, purring, “Nuh uh uh, you naughty thing...” He moves to press a kiss to Neville’s chest, over his heart, through his shirt. Draco places one on Neville’s lowest button, and then to his belly, and then to the space right over his cock, and Draco can feel it arching up against his chin. Draco’s next kiss he places on the tip of Neville’s straining dick, but he holds Neville’s hips gently down on either side while he does it. Neville weakly bucks up under his hands and moans.

“Shh,” Draco soothes, lips pressed against the bulbous head. “Just relax, honey. You’re sick... let me take care of you...” Draco trails off into a raunchy purr and sensually draws his tongue over the tip. Neville jerks lightly, and it’s clear from his restrained movements that he’s not up to his usual energy. Draco puts all the sympathy into his tongue, and he vows to do all the work.

Draco doesn’t kiss as hard as he usually does; Neville’s hard enough. He doesn’t nip, or scrape anything with his teeth, and he doesn’t want to deep-throat Neville all at once. Instead he uses feather-light kisses, and languid strokes of his tongue, and just generally gets it wet and lavishes it. Neville has such a big cock that there’s plenty of space to worship, and Draco knows every centimeter of it by heart, every vein. He lifts one hand to hold it in place as he fits his lips around the tip, still holding Neville’s hips down with the other. Draco sucks lightly on the spongy head, working his mouth around it and humming lightly. Even sick and unwashed Draco likes the taste and smell. Sometimes he wonders if that makes him strange, being so addicted to Neville’s cock, but he can’t help it. It just feels right in his mouth, and he sucks on it like a lollipop, gently stroking the base. His saliva acts as lube, and he can feel a bit of precum on the back of his tongue. Neville’s cum drives Draco wild. ...He really didn’t want to put stress on Neville’s weakened body, but he can admit that not having Neville’s cum in him for so long has been painful...

When he glances up through his lashes, Neville’s writhing gently, groaning and trying to stare back down, flushed and half-lidded. But then, he’s been flushed all day. The moonlight plays over his dilated pupils and red cheeks perfectly, and his fists are tight in the sheets. After a few more sucks, he mumbles, “C... Come up here... wanna do you...”

Draco pulls off slickly, and a trail of saliva still connects his tongue and Neville’s dick. Draco gives it another tentative lick and doesn’t move his lips far from it as he purrs, “It’s okay, honey, you’re tired.”

Neville shakes his head. “C’mon... ‘least let me touch you...” He reaches out one hand to pet Draco’s hair fondly, and Draco smiles into it.

He concedes, “Just your hand,” as though bargaining with a child over dessert. But he shifts his body anyway, crawling back in the bed, so that his knees are next to Neville’s shoulders. Smiling, Neville reaches a hand under Draco’s raised waist, slipping into his boxers. Draco moans and buries his face in Neville’s cock and balls. “Ooh... yes...”

“You’re so cute,” Neville rambles, sounding a bit incoherent, “’love you so much.”

“‘Love you too, darling,” Draco purrs, and he kisses Neville’s balls, sliding his tongue back up the shaft. He can tell Neville likes the attention, now not only from the appreciative groan, but from the tug Draco gets to his own dick. It makes him moan and piston his hips forward into Neville’s hand. He tries to be still after; Neville’s being still for him.

Concentrating is a bit harder with his own pleasure on the table, but Draco does his best to please his husband. He re-licks the whole cock from top to bottom, coating all of the sides in saliva again, until it’s shiny and pink, and then he wraps his fingers back around it, pumping tenderly. He parts his lips around the head again, and this time takes in a little more, humming and sucking around it. When he presses down a little further, his chin brushes Neville’s dark curls, and he can’t look up to see Neville anymore. He could look over his shoulder, but that would entail taking the cock out of his mouth, and he doesn’t want to do that. Each stroke between his own legs makes Draco shiver and want to worship Neville even more. All of his throaty moans around Neville’s cock sound just as happy as he is, and Draco’s eyes roll back in his head as he feels the impending orgasm Neville so skillfully pulls out of him. Even sick, Neville’s good with his hands. He’s a gardener and a Healer, so it’s really to be expected. At the top of his game, he can melt Draco to pieces in seconds.

“You’re so good to me,” Neville’s ranting. He sounds dizzy, and Draco feels dizzy with lust and need too. “So happy I married you, so happy every day...”

Draco tries to murmur, ‘I love you,’ around Neville’s cock, but it just comes out muffled. Neville starts playing with his balls and the pleasure runs all down Draco’s spine, making him whimper loudly. Every sound he makes is gagged by the hard cock in his mouth, and he loves it. Draco didn’t want to do anything too strenuous, but he can’t help but bob up and down a little, going a bit further each time, sucking it and blowing it and tasting it, and filling his mouth with _Neville_. He could drink Neville’s cum all day, and he desperately wants to now...

Neville comes first, and his thighs tremble as he explodes in Draco’s mouth. Draco keeps his lips locked around the head and quickly sucks it all up, not wanting to make a mess, and swallows as it comes, over and over. He can feel it sliding slickly down his throat and landing heavy on his tongue, and he keeps swallowing until it’s all over, and all out in his mouth and headed for his stomach. Tasting Neville’s cum is what really pushes him over, and he comes all over Neville’s hand a moment later. He keeps his mouth around Neville’s wilting cock to stifle the scream he makes, hips twitching happily.

When he finally pulls off, he kisses it chastely. Then he tugs Neville’s pajamas back up and loosely reties the drawstring. Neville’s a collapsed puddle in the sheets as Draco crawls back. He softly hooks a finger under Neville’s chin and tilts Neville over for a kiss.

It’s open-mouthed, but no tongue, and Neville’s smiling brightly. He still looks groggy as Draco pulls away to kiss his cheek, and he mumbles again, “‘Best husband ever.”

“’Love you too,” Draco drawls, and he rolls over to the nightstand to get his wand, so he can cast a quick cleaning spell on Neville’s hand. When he licks his lips, he can still taste Neville, and that’s his favourite feeling to go to sleep to.

Draco settles in besides Neville, curling up to him, but careful not to put any weight on him. Draco doesn’t pull the blankets back up, because they’re both much too hot. Draco whispers, “Feel better,” as he closes his eyes again, willing Neville to be alright in the morning.


End file.
